


breaking a fever

by pistolgrip



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolgrip/pseuds/pistolgrip
Summary: “Oh, woe isme,”Siete whines, thankfully not draping himself all over Six in his dramatics but choosing to collapse onto every surface he can find instead.





	breaking a fever

“Oh, woe is _me,”_ Siete whines, thankfully not draping himself all over Six in his dramatics but choosing to collapse onto every surface he can find instead.

Six is grateful that it’s the mess hall he’s chosen to stay in at this late of an hour. Other than him, there’s only three other Erunes chatting in the corner; Siete at least won’t be bothering too many people, but he knows exactly how to bother one certain person, who he’s slowly but surely approaching.

The advantage of the mask is that no one can tell whether he’s looking at the spectacle or not. This time, Six is definitely looking, not wasting energy to turn his head. But he’s not going to leave Siete alone either, not when he alone was the only one to see the sickly pallor that had overcome him earlier that night, damp towel on his forehead and sheets curled tightly around him.

The first real-looking expression that Siete has on his face during the entire performance is when he stands up straight, wobbling slightly, with his eyes unfocused and eyebrows scrunched in concentration. The expression is trained right on Six, and under his breath he mutters something and then collapses into a chair.

The three Erunes put down their midnight snacks and make their way to him, and Six finally turns. Siete’s breathing is punctuated by a few groans as one of them starts nudging him in the shoulder. “Dude, you okay?”

When Siete doesn’t answer right away, Six begins to worry. Idiot most likely overexerted himself trying to grab his attention again, and he covers up his concern with a low growling sigh.

One of the other Erunes runs to grab a bottle of water at the other’s prodding, and someone says again, “Dude, you gotta, like, answer, or we’ll run for the Captain.”

He lifts his head to face the young man, mouth opening to respond, but he turns away quickly to start coughing violently into his elbow. He downs the water that was brought back to him, and then he tries again. “No, I’ll be okay, just...”

“Came here for something?”

“Need a...”

“Yeah?” The three other Erunes say in unison, leaning in like Siete’s drawing in his final breath. One of them takes out a handkerchief and starts sniffing obnoxiously. Six would get up and leave if he weren’t the single, tiniest bit concerned.

“Need a kitty cat to lick my wounds,” he finishes, lifting his head to wink at Six before falling over backwards into one of their arms. The one that catches him drops onto his knees and screams with agony up into the ceiling of the mess hall. The other two console him, and Six sees Siete scrunch his face up at the loud noise.

Finally at his limit, Six stands up and slams his hand on the table he’s sitting at, and the three immediately stop their chatter. “Have you never known a day of peace and quiet before in your life? Will not even a sickness be cause enough for you to calm down, you insufferable man?”

“Jeez, Six, I said _lick_ my wounds, not _salt_ them,” Siete says from where he’s lying, eyes not even opening.

“I’ll leave you here. You seem to be receiving the care you need,” Six says, and he turns to leave the mess hall.

“Wait, wait wait,” Siete says, eyes flying open and struggling to stand. The three Erunes, now apparently his wingmen, around him push him upwards; Siete stumbles down on the first step he takes towards him.

Six sighs and taps his foot.

“Don’t be mean, dude,” one of the Erunes says. “He’s, like, dying to see you.” He sticks his hands up to either side without looking and the other two high five him.

“What Lowain says.” Siete grins up at him, but it’s weak, and his voice is still hoarse. “Don’t be mean, dude.”

* * *

Siete’s room is closer to the mess hall, but it’s still a long trip, especially since most of Siete’s weight had fallen onto him the second they were out of sight of any crew members. The hallways they shuffle through are quiet enough that Six can hear the little pants that Siete is gasping out, and puts a gloved hand on his forehead.

The heat seeps through almost effortlessly. “I told you to stay in bed, that you needed to rest, since you were 'concerned' about not being seen by anyone in this pitiful state of yours, and what do you go and do?” He growls, renewing his energy in dragging Siete through the hallways until they reach his room. Removing an arm from around him, he jiggles the doorknob of his room to find it locked. “You were out of your mind enough to come find me, but not enough to forget to lock your own door?”

“Safety first.” Siete grins feebly, before coughing a few times for good measure. They’re real coughs at this point, and Six sighs, starting to dig through Siete’s pockets for the keys. “Didn’t think you were the kinda guy to feel me up while I was sick.”

Six chooses to ignore it. “Where are your keys?”

“Around my neck.”

Six is incredibly tempted to yank Siete down until he’s low enough to the doorknob that he can use the key on his necklace to unlock the door, but instead, he says, “Unlock the door.”

“Bossy.” Siete removes the arm he’s thrown around Six’s shoulders haphazardly and takes off the necklace out from under his shirt. Going to unlock the door, he leans forward until he almost falls face first into the door, at which point Six catches him.

“Useless,” he throws right back at him.

Six ushers him into the room, closes the door behind them, and guides him in the direction of the bed. “Y’know, Six, I like when you’re this forward,” Siete mumbles as Six has to fight with him to get him to lay down. “Should do it more often.”

Despite all the frustration he’s suffered that night, he still flushes red under his mask. He rolls Siete over onto his back, and points a finger right here. “Stay.”

“Yes, sir,” Siete grins.

Six runs a hand down his masked face. “If you move from this position, I will kill you.”

“I’m sure there’s nicer things you could do to me in this position.”

Six chooses to ignore this too, grabbing a towel from his drawers and stepping inside the small bathroom. Here, he takes his mask off for a second and lets the tap run, splashing cold water on his face.

Djeeta had been late to pick them up two days ago, and they had been stuck waiting in heavy rains for longer than expected; Siete almost immediately came down with a cold the next night. Six, having never taken care of anyone sick before other than himself and at a loss, went to fetch Djeeta, but Siete had stopped him before he could even leave the room. _If anyone sees the leader of the Eternals like this, what’ll they think?_ he’d asked, and at that point his voice was already so hoarse every word creaked out.

 _They’d know you for what you were, an idiot,_ he’d said, but he’d stayed by Siete’s side until he fell asleep, and _then_ went to go find Djeeta. She’d been nice about it, swore herself to secrecy, and with medicine from one of the sick bays and some hot soup, he’d made his way back to Siete’s room.

Just like Djeeta said, he’d woken Siete up, gotten him to at least put something in his stomach, taken cold medicine, and then put a cold rag on his head as he fell asleep. Six had watched over him for some time, but it was unsettling to him to see Siete so motionless and pale; if it weren’t for his twitching and his chest rising up and down, Six would think him dead. It was enough for him to stand up and roam the ship to get the images out of his mind.

Of course, he’d been gone for too long, and Siete had, inexplicably, blindly wandered his way around the ship until finding him; there was no way he would have known where Six had gone to begin with, and he shudders to think at how many surfaces Siete’s touched and contaminated with sickness.

It was almost touching, if he weren’t so damn worried about the state he’s in. Sighing, he finally runs the towel under the cold water and heads back to the bed.

Siete’s eyes are closed, and he tries to lighten his steps as not to disturb him. Gently as he can, he sits on the edge of the bed. “Why do I put up with you,” he scolds, putting the towel on his forehead.

“’Cause you love me,” Siete mumbles, evidently still awake.

As he’s leaning over, Six freezes. His eyes dart across Siete’s face, trying to find any hint of a joke, but he’s the same state of sick he has been for the past day. He doesn’t know how to respond to any sort of declarations of love, doesn’t even know how he managed to choke out the feelings that led to this arrangement in the first place, and he’s at a complete loss as to how to answer.

He—what does love _feel_ like? He’s more than fond of Siete, more than _just_ puts up with him, actively seeks him out—but people have always carried the word love like something heavy yet fragile, to be given to the right person lest it be broken. It’s something he’s slowly relearnt over the years, in different forms, but never felt the need to verbally express it.

Does he confirm it now? If he doesn’t, will Siete hate him for it?

“I can hear you thinking.” Siete opens one of his eyes and lifts his hand up to the side of Six’s face, thumb stroking the edge of his mask, grounding him with the action. “Lemme see your face, handsome.”

“No.” Six’s mouth feels dry. “This is the one measure I have against your sickness.”

“That mean you’ll give me a kiss with the mask on, though?”

“You won’t take no for an answer, will you?” Even with that, Six is the first to move, leaning closer to him again. Siete’s hand moves from the side of his face to cupping the back of his neck, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, and he presses a kiss on his mask against where his lips would be.

“Now turn upside down and push your mask up so we can kiss like Spiderman.”

“Like _what?”_ The odd comment stops his train of thought cold, trying to figure out if there’s been some new, horrific species discovered in Phantagrande that he should be worried about (spiders are _no good),_ and—

Siete smiles. He knows what he’s doing, fingers fever hot against the nape of Six’s neck. “You back with me? Didn’t mean to pressure you or anything.”

“No, I—“ _do,_ he wants to say, _I do love you,_ but the words don’t come out. He looks away from Siete and sits back up on the edge of the bed. Siete’s hand moves from his neck to his back, stroking gently.

“Don’t worry about it so much,” Siete says, voice sinking into the first signs of sleep. “You of all people know that actions speak louder than words.”

He knows that, because even now, although Siete is on the verge of falling asleep and succumbing to his tired sickness, he’s the one giving comfort to Six instead of it being the other way around. It sinks his heart the same way it fills him with warmth, and without turning around, he mutters, “Sorry.”

Siete removes his hand, and Six hears him shuffle behind him. There’s a pat on the bed, and he turns around to see Siete, moving himself over with enough room for Six to lie down next to him.

“You’re sick.”

“I am.”

After a moment of contemplation, he gets up off the bed and goes to Siete’s drawers, grabs a set of sleeping clothes, and changes into them. Still, he only sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at Siete, valiantly staying awake. Just for him.

He reaches a hand out to Siete’s face this time, cupping it and running a thumb along his cheek. Six feels himself turn red at how tender the action is, even though he’s done it many times before. Siete turns his face and kisses at his palm, eyes still closed.

The towel slips off his forehead, and Six puts it back on. “Stop moving.”

“Then come to bed.”

“Only if you don’t go wandering the ship again like some madman.” He lifts the covers and rolls into his side, facing away from Siete. More shuffling, and then Siete turns over to put his arm around his waist, tucking Six’s head under his chin.

The towel falls on the pillow above him and Six grabs it and throws it in the direction of the bathroom. “I thought I told you to stop moving,” he grumbles, flicking his ears in Siete’s face.

“Sorry,” he says, kissing the top of Six’s head, before finally resting for the night.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **[17:50] two gremlin conans:** i ache all over today so im just gonig to sit here and grind out books because anything else hurts  
>  **[17:50] six-ruin bringer:** NOOO RIGHT I FORGOT U WERE FEELING SICK :(  
>  **[17:50] six-ruin bringer:** brain, immediately: write sickfic  
>  me: can you not do this when im asking my friend if shes ok  
>  **[17:50] two gremlin conans:** LFSGHDKGHDJFG  
>  **[17:50] two gremlin conans:** OH MY GOD. please write sickfic


End file.
